


Has The Moon Lost Her Memory

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Romance, Sirius in Azkaban, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 20:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5942812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus PoV some time before the events of PoA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Has The Moon Lost Her Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

_midnight. not a sound from the pavement_

Darkness engulfs me as I come to rest on one of the park benches on the deserted cemetery grounds. No sound from the narrow asphalt path that leads through the burial grounds, only the slow, ghost-like whispering of the wind, whistling as though it were transmitting the voices of those who have been put to rest here, and then the shrill chime of the church bells, striking out to the world, proclaiming that the hour of the dead has arrived. Midnight. 

A few restless spirits, drawn out of their graves, ragged, sorrowful faces, glistening in the silvery light of the moon, make their way off the graveyard, to haunt those who have caused them pain, to try and reach those whom they have loved - a fruitless endeavour, for these agitated souls are barely ever seen by anyone who does not have the right frame of mind for them at the moment of attempted contact. Engulfed by the seemingly important nullities of life, most of the living cannot see that which has passed. 

I can see them only because there is nothing important enough in the world of the living anymore, not for me. I eat, I drink, I walk and I do my job when I happen to have one (which more often I don't), but all of these things are but empty rituals. I could just as well be one of them. 

In the early years, James and Lily used to rise up from their combined grave at the hour of midnight - they never noticed me, or talked to me, for the mind of the restless spirits is solely on the one task that keeps them connected to this world, the one thing that holds them back from the other sphere most of the dead are said to travel to - and I knew they were rising to visit their son and to watch over his sleep. But their visits grew fewer, and sometime last autumn they stopped rising altogether, and I knew that for some reason, they had found peace. 

Peace that I would never find.

_has the moon lost her memory?_

My gaze rises to the night time sky, illuminated by the stars and the almost full moon, promising, calling, enticing me with her magic. But her pale, hoary light no longer holds the same magic for me as it once did. Now, she is only something to be feared, no longer to be loved and embraced, just as it was before I met...

_she is smiling alone._

I dare not think the name, but the sharp twang of pain that surrounds my heart, spreading like cancer in my chest, making breathing alone a painful task reminds me of what I have lost. Unconsciously I search the sky, despite the knowledge that the Dog Star is not visible. 

The better, for what once was the joy of my life is now my undoing. A decade has passed, it seems like centuries in my soul, yet the pain has not lessened, deepening with every day, every night, every solitary smile of the moon whom I had once learned to embrace as a friend and who is now once again my enemy, broadcaster of fear in my tortured existence.

_in the damp lamplight the withered leaves collect at my feet_

and the wind begins to moan

Autumn leaves collect at my feat, wasted reminders of the warmth of spring, the joy and carelessness of the summer of my heart. The slow whining of the wind rises, agonizingly raucous to my sensitive hearing, like the voice of death... the voice of Sirius, calling to me, bribing me to remember...

_memory. all alone in the moonlight._

Remember a time when live was easy, when autumn was a time of joyful colours, of long walks through the scent-laded countryside, smelling of rain and earth, so rich... Remember a time when the moon was our guardian as the wolf ran freely with his mate...

_i can smile at the old days –_

life was beautiful then. 

i remember the time I knew what happiness was. 

let the memory live again.

A tired, melancholic smile fights its way to the surface of my features as I reminisce on one particular autumn night, so many, many years ago. Scurrying along the plains, dashing through the barren trees with Padfoot, the wolf's companion... we had not yet admitted our love to each other yet, each fearing the other's reaction as humans, but Moony and Padfoot, the wolf and the canine, they knew they were soulmates. Bliss and ecstasy as he charged after me through the low branches of the Dark Forrest, not threatening to us, a place we called home... The scent of rain-coated foliage in my nostrils as I halted... beautiful... the impact, as Padfoot crashed into me... a wild tumble of legs as we hurtled into a pile of dried leaves... the warmth of his body on mine, the odor of damp fur so close, the feeling of belonging as his muzzle dived into the crevice of my neck, wet tongue nuzzling at my throat... Oh god, those days were so happy, and I could loose myself in them were it not for the knowledge of what came later...

_every streetlamp seems to beat a fatalistic warning._

someone mutters and a streetlamp gutters

The low buzzing of one of the lanterns framing the path brings me back to reality, alarm ringing through my brain not to remember, not to let myself be consumed by these lethal thoughts lest I loose my last grip on reality... 

The light flickers, then dies, and I know it is time for me to leave, to go back to the place I now call home, though it can never mean the same to me as that small secluded cottage where I used to live with Sirius...

_and soon it will be morning._

The sky is lightening in the east, another night I spent not at home in my bed but in the shelter of the cemetery, lost in fatal memories and self-damnations.

_daylight, i must wait for the sunrise._

i must think of a new life and i mustn't give in.

I must stop these night-time strolls, seemingly erratic yet always leading to this one place, provoking thoughts of what is lost and will never be again... 

How am I supposed to find a new meaning in life when all I can think about is this traitorous past and the treacherous love I can still find it in me to have for my lost mate? How am I supposed to go on like this?

_when the dawn comes_

tonight will be a memory too – 

and a new day will begin.

Already I can see the eastern sky reddening, and soon the first rays of the autumn sun will break through the blood-tinted sky. A new day will arise, and I will, as s many times before, compel myself to think of a new life, a life in which I am not merely the shadow of a man, a life independent of Sirius, who has governed it up to now by memory alone. 

Yes, I will make this decision, try and embrace this new day... 

Yet I know I will return here, and that I will never be free of him who was once my salvation and is now my undoing.

The End.


End file.
